


Month of Discomfort

by thebakerstboyskeeper



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, F/M, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebakerstboyskeeper/pseuds/thebakerstboyskeeper
Summary: Otherwise known as thebakerstboyskeeper putting Sidni Cadash through hell. Intimacy prompts submitted by followers for Sidni and Cullen or her companions.





	1. Cullen Finds Sidni Wearing His Shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by kagetsukai

She doesn’t know why she does it. **  
**

At first, she blames her tendencies to steal. She’s done it for so long, she can’t help it. But that’s a lie. And she knows it. Stealing was … well, not exactly second nature. More like fifth nature. And she hasn’t stolen since well before the Conclave.

She tries to blame it on not having enough clothes, but that excuse lasts for perhaps ten seconds. She has more clothes than she knows what to do with. Stone’s sake, she owns more now than she has in her entire life combined. Not that she wears even a quarter of them. Vivienne can turn her nose up all she likes.

Then she attempts to fool herself into thinking he left it behind. He didn’t. He’s ridiculously neat and conscious of everything. Most of the time, there’s very little sign that he’s been in her room for longer than a few moments.

She has to be honest with herself. She accidentally took it with her things leaving his loft once. And found it surprisingly comfortable and smelling strongly of Cullen. She kept it until the smell faded, had it laundered and returned, and then took it again when he wasn’t looking.

The cycle continues as her little secret. When everything is too much, when she tries to keep from falling apart, she retreats to her quarters and slips into the tunic. It’s ridiculous and everything she’s ever been trained against.

Which is how she’s now found herself, dressed only in said tunic, with her knife pressed against its owners throat. His startled gaze has taken on a different heat as he glances over her body, pink dusting his cheeks. She’s frozen, wondering if she can make it over the balcony before he can catch her.

“Is that … a-are you wear … you’re …”

She tucks the knife away, straightening. Her chin lifts, features smoothing. He’ll see through her - he always does when it comes to matters like …  _this_  - but she’s not about to make it easy.

“I wasn’t expecting you, Commander.”

That damn smile appears on his face, small and mischievous. One of his brows quirks. She hates that expression. He knows what it does to her. She turns on her heel, striding purposefully back to the bed. Luckily Dorian’s book is still on her bedside table, offering itself as a shield.

The sounds of Cullen shedding his armor echo across the room. She keeps herself hidden behind the book, knees holding it open as she stares unseeingly at the pages. She wishes she could change, but it would just draw his attention.

He sits on the edge of the mattress next to her. The abrupt dip under his weight knocks her legs askew, the book flopping uselessly to the side. He does that strange nuzzling at her cheek, breathing her in. And though she wants to lean into it, she can’t.

“I’d wondered where it kept disappearing to.”

Her face is about to burst into flames.  _He’d noticed_. She goes rigid, a voice in her head that sounds very much like her father cursing her weakness.

“This is my shirt, Cullen. I don’t know what you’re implying, but if you’ve lost one of yours, don’t come blaming me.”

When he leans back, she catches the flash of hurt on his face. It’s gone before she can address it, one of his sighs filling the silence.

“When you leave and I’m left wondering every day if you’re alright or what you’re doing, I carry your letters in my coat. It feels like a piece of you that I can touch. A promise that you’re … still alive. That you will come back to me.”

Her heart trips. His head tilts to the side, crooked grin lighting up his eyes. She launches herself into his chest, hiding her face as his arms come around her. He kisses her forehead, fingers smoothing the fabric of his tunic across her back.

They don’t speak of it again, nor does he comment on several tunics disappearing more frequently.

The next time she leaves Skyhold, she finds a suspiciously large tunic, smelling of Cullen, tucked haphazardly in her pack.


	2. Ambush Hug/Non-Ambush Hug for Sidni and Any Companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by out-of-the-embers

She blinks, glancing around. There’s a ringing in her ears and her breath is still gone from her chest. Spots block her vision. She forces herself to move, to use what she has. Check on the others. **  
**

As she staggers to her feet, her vision clears some. Varric is groaning where he lays on his back a few feet from her. Cassandra is the furthest away, sword and shield scattered around her, pushing herself up on her arms and shaking her head. The dragon’s corpse is twisted in all the wrong ways, smelling heavily of charred flesh. She holds back a gag, turning.

Panic spikes through her.

“Where’s Dorian?”

Her shout freezes the other two. Sidni spins, scanning the still smoking area. She can’t feel the tingle of his barrier across her skin. And he doesn’t answer her frantic shouts.

She glances at her companions. Cassandra is bleeding from a head wound that needs to be seen to and Varric is limping, struggling to swing Bianca into her holster on his back. But they’re here. Her mind runs in circles, denying that anything serious has happened to Dorian before reminding herself this worry is making her soft and then rounding the bend to hatred that she would even dare think such a thing.

Varric begins to apologize, but she waves him off. None of them could have predicted the dragon’s attack would react with his elemental mine. They’re lucky their fate is not the same as the dragon’s.

And they have Dorian to thank for it.

She runs to search on the other side of the dragon, ignoring Varric shouting that she’s bleeding. She screams for Dorian again, heart threatening to pound out of her chest.  _Stone, please, don’t let me lose him._  He doesn’t know how much he means to her, how much she relies on him. Too much.

How he’s become her family.

There’s no sign of him. Her hands shake as she stands at the edge of the small dropoff. She reaches for control, trying to find that space in her soul where her feelings can’t interfere. It eludes her. She feels flayed open, the stillness in her bones missing, the familiar heavy cloak of stone gone.

Her voice echoes as she calls again, one last time, promising all manner of harmful things to his being if he doesn’t answer her right that moment.

“ _Fasta vass_ , Cadash. I’m injured enough without your threats. Please keep your murderous tendencies under control.”

She spins, finding him scrabbling up the incline toward her. His hair is in disarray, one side of his mustache singed, covered in dirt and bruises, but alive. He’s muttering about his robes and his hair, but she doesn’t care.

Her feet slip and slide through the rocks as she sprints toward him. The second before she reaches him, she sees him look up, grey eyes widening and mouth falling open. The collision hurts, but she wraps her arms around his waist, clinging to him. She feels her heart settle even as they sway precariously.

“Cadash … Sidni …”

_Let go of him. You’re humiliating yourself. He’ll use it against you._

She forces the thoughts away, reassuring herself that he’s here.

“I had no idea you felt this way,” he starts in a flippant tone. “But I must inform you–”

“Dorian. Be quiet.”

He pauses, but then his arms are circling her shoulders, holding her close.

“Are the others … ?” He trails off, voice quiet and low.

“They’re alright.”

“Inquisitor!”

She steps away quickly, turning to look up at Cassandra and Varric as they reach the edge. Relief paints their faces when they see Dorian.

As they climb back toward the clearing, the mage sends her a smile. When she returns it, she ignores the feeling that she’s left a soft spot for him to exploit. Something whispers that he’ll keep it safe for her.


	3. Cullen and Sidni Have to Share a Bed Where the Blanket Isn’t Big Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by kagetsukai

The nights get progressively colder the further into the Western Approach they go. It’s only made worse by the contrast of extreme heat they endure by day. She tells herself that’s why she keeps dragging her bedroll into Cullen’s tent night after night and huddling down next to him. Body heat.

Tonight, she listens to his teeth chatter, senses how he trembles in the frigid air. Her heart aches at the same time an irrational anger flares at whoever keeps insisting on separating their things and continually setting up a separate tent for her each time they stop. If they would just leave it be, her missing blanket would be here and not - most likely - wrapped around a certain thieving Tevinter mage.

When she’d discovered it missing after the camp settled, she’d insisted she’d be fine. They’d argued quietly in the dark until she’d dragged the small brazier closer to where they were laying. It does very little to help ward off the chill inside the lambswool walls and, at the first sign of a shiver from her, Cullen was wrapping his own blanket around her. And completely ignoring her protests.

She stares across the space between them. Cullen is always careful. An old voice in the back of her head tells her he’s scared of her, but she knows that’s not true. He’s been … better than she could ask for. He’s respectful of her and her own problems. Letting her come to him. Recognizing her fear, but never giving it a name.

By the Stone, she wants to close that distance. She’s wanted a reason to share covers even before the cold necessitated it. Would he refuse her? She doesn’t think so, but can she hide the sting if he rejects her?

Trembling of a different kind suddenly rushes through her body.

She imagines the way she’ll move. Her mind supplies the exact spots she can place her hands and knees on her way to him. A plan of attack, as it were. She knows exactly how quickly she can invade his bedroll, and in as few movements as possible. She’ll be there before he can realize it. Then she can wait for him to push her away.

Her heart pounds against her ribs as if to say,  _He won’t. He won’t. He won’t._

A deep breath, a quick check to make sure her sleeping clothes are covering her, and then she’s gathering the blanket close. She shuffles sideways on her knees and lowers herself onto Cullen’s chest, arms coming around his sides with said blanket.

He stiffens when he feels her weight. She tucks her legs against her stomach, curled into the smallest shape possible as she waits.

The moment his arms move, she braces for him to shove her off, eyes squeezing shut. Instead, he’s holding her close, under the blanket, using his legs to make sure it covers all the way down. She peeks an eye open, sneaking a glance up at him.

He smiles when he sees her looking. The dim glow of the brazier makes his features seem ethereal, and she’s suddenly not convinced she’s awake. His fingers brush her hair behind her ear in a familiar gesture.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

She nearly snorts. Definitely not dreaming then. Only Cullen would do something as ridiculous as thanking her for crawling on top of him like an overgrown stable cat.

Still, she relaxes against him, feeling the beat of his heart under her cheek. Her nose is filled with the woodsy scent she associates as his, though it’s slightly dulled under the less pleasant smell of sweat and sun. But he’s not pushing her away.

His hands begin to trace paths down her back. She tenses, breath stuttering, before melting into the touch. He pauses, her reaction not unnoticed by him.

“Is … is this okay?”

She nods against him, her fingers pressing against his sides and keeping the blanket tucked around them both.


	4. Just Take Your Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by shannaraisles
> 
> If you want some background to this, check out Chapter 30 of March Madness Writing Challenge.

She brings Cullen back. He’s bruised, battered, and very quiet. Their friends fuss over him in the courtyard of Skyhold. She watches him pushing them away, eyes searching the small crowd around himself. Dorian and Varric are doing the same.

Looking for her.

She doesn’t want to hear the grief they will undoubtedly give her. She lost them on purpose when she knew they were following. It’s almost a relief to acknowledge that she kept a few secrets. Is still capable of surprising them. She didn’t want any of her friends walking blindly into danger.

Cullen is still shaking the others off, now scanning the shadows. He won’t find her. She doesn’t want him to.

She glances down to the bloody dagger dangling from its belt. Her breath rattles, speeds, images flashing behind her eyes. Cullen, hazy with whatever concoction Lorcan had poisoned him with, bloodied and weak. Hurt. In danger. Because of her.

Her attention, her  _love_ , had set the fucking bounty on him. The moment she grew weak to him, she turned him into a target.

_“You’ve gone soft, Parsha. I could kill him now and you’d beg me not to. Once, you would have slit his throat yourself.”_

She had begged, only just remembering to temper it with negotiation. To hide some of her weakness. And when she thought she had won …

Her spine straightens. Stone settles over her. She has something to see through. The time of playing make-believe and false family is over. When this is all finished, she’ll be on her way. They will all be safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cullen is deemed fit to return to work, provided he takes it easy and lets himself heal. He has Dorian, Cassandra, Varric, and even Bull watching, so he’s forced to be slow and let some of his work fall to his lieutenants. For several days, he chomps at the bit.

Sidni disappears. He’s assured she’s been glimpsed around Skyhold in the weeks that follow, but no one - not even Dorian - has spoken to her. She conveniently slips away when anyone attempts to get close. Fear, the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long while, settles in his heart.

He knows. When she had come for him, he’d never seen that expression on her face. Even in the heat of battle, there had always been a softness to her. When she stepped into the hideout, facing her father, he finally found himself seeing who she had once been.

Lying awake at night, feeling the empty space beside him, he replays the taunts her father had thrown at her. Each one struck at who she had become, away from his merciless hand. For just a moment, he was back at Kinloch, helpless and trapped and watching someone he cared for face down incredible danger. Perhaps that had been Cullen’s only advantage, knowing  _Sidni_ , knowing his Inquisitor, and watching how she took each harmful word as fuel for her anger. She’d used it, bargained his release and never faltered, even while staring down the one person he knew terrified her.

He thinks of her face after, of the way he’d watched her shatter, betrayal and blood splashed across her features. Her scream had tugged at him, sending a chill through his very soul. For too long, she hadn’t heard him, wouldn’t respond. His cries to the Maker went unanswered.

Then the spell broke and she was bandaging him, treating him like something fragile in her hands. They’d made their way back to Skyhold in silence. She’d left him in the courtyard in the care of their friends and gone.

Ever since, she’s avoided anyone who attempts to get close for reasons other than Inquisition business. And though he’s tried to tell himself it would be alright, her continued absence says otherwise. The day he finds the necklace with his coin wrapped up on his desk, he can deny it no longer.

He finally faces her over the War Table. She doesn’t make eye contact with any of them longer than is necessary. Her smile is gone. The ease they had fought so hard for … missing.

He’s had enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Commander. Can I help you?”

He stares at the stranger sitting where his lover should be. She’s all rigid lines and distance. His heart falls.

He misses the soft look she gave him. Her quiet shadow at his side. Her hand in his.

He misses her.

“Sidni.”

She’s focused on her paperwork, but he’s staring at her. He sees how she tenses. And he realizes she looks brittle. When she glances up, the flash of longing in her eyes is enough for him to suddenly understand.

He takes a breath and circles the desk. She’s on her feet in a flash, backing away like a frightened animal.

“Sidni, please. Speak to me.”

Her chin lifts. “Was there a problem with the report I sent, Commander?”

“Sidni.” His voice comes out harsher than he means, but he presses forward. She steps backward again, but he follows, his hands reaching for hers. She tenses as their fingers twine, and then she’s crumbling, frantically fighting for the pieces of her composure.

If he could, he would drag that bastard back and see him hanged for all he’s done.

“This was not your fault,” he breathes, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. “No one could have foreseen this.”

Her silence says she thought she could.

“I am not going anywhere. I love you no less.”

Her breath hitches. But when he pulls her close, she doesn’t resist. He holds her, loose enough that she can slip free if she wishes. She leans into him, but her arms remain at her sides.

He can’t help feeling her father has destroyed something precious between them. Maker damn him, Cullen will not let it stand.

“The others worry for you. As do I. Please, Sidni. When you are ready, come back to us. Just … take your time.”

And though it feels like he’s carving his heart out, he gives one last kiss to her hair and sets her necklace on her desk as he leaves.

His weight falls against the closed door to her quarters.  _Maker_ , he thinks,  _bring her back to me._


	5. At the Lake With Cullen, Realizing Intimacy Doesn’t Always Mean Physical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by shannaraisles

Sidni glances down at the coin resting in her palm. It’s bright in contrast to the leather wrapped around her skin, the metal cool against her bare fingers when she closes them around it. Cullen’s one possession he’s kept with him all these years, and he’s handed it over to her. **  
**

She stares out across the dark lake, feeling his chest rise and fall under the plate against her back. His arms rest loosely across her stomach, his cheek pressed to her hair. Their legs dangle over the edge of the dock together. His limbs surround her entire body, and yet, she doesn’t feel caged.

She should.

Her jaw clenches as she forces the thought away.  _No._  She shouldn’t. She’s safe here. She’s  _wanted._

The importance of the small gift is not lost on her. Through all of the shit, all of the horrors, Cullen clung to this. A token from a family member. It suddenly feels much heavier than it did a moment ago.

She stills. Before … before the Inquisition, she knows what this would mean. Something important given to her would warrant something in return. Most of the time, it was the use of her body. Sometimes, it was more blood on her hands. She thinks of turning, finding those damn buckles on his armor and undoing them, pulling the laces on his breeches loose.

Sick rises in her throat. It feels wrong to even think of such a thing. But life has taught her it’s what you do.

_Haven’t you learned most of what you know is wrong?_

She starts, prompting Cullen to squeeze his arms gently around her. Still, she thinks frantically of the possessions she’s come to recently own. There’s nothing of value like this simple coin. Her heart sinks, even as she pats at the hidden pockets in her leathers surreptitiously.

“Sidni,” Cullen murmurs, laying a hand over hers to still her movements.

Maybe not at subtle as she thought.

With nothing else to offer, she swallows the sense of wrong, tucks the coin away, and turns, shifting to her knees. His grip loosens, arms moving to support himself. Their eyes meet as she hesitates. The way his brow furrows batters at her resolve, but she forces herself to reach forward, to push at his coat. She drops her gaze, unable to hold his. It all feels wrong, but she has to–

Her fingers lock in the worn fabric, her forehead hitting his chest plate with a dull thud. Her heart screams that this will cheapen him, ruin his gift. Cullen … Cullen offers her his heart freely. His love. And he’s never asked for anything in return.

Only perhaps her happiness.

She presses her face into his neck and winds her arms around his shoulders. This time it’s guilt that nearly chokes her. To do that to him. To even think it. She kisses an apology into his skin, then another, until they shift into promises to cherish him and to show him what his gift means to her until the day she dies. To be the person he believes she is.

His answering embrace soothes her. He breathes her in, brushing a hand down her back. And suddenly, she  _knows_. Those words he speaks so freely to her encompass all of this and more. She tightens her grip around him and smiles. He chuckles.

“I love you.”

She can finally tell him, with absolute certainty, “I know you do.”

And for now, it’s enough.


	6. “I Wonder If This Is What Family Is Supposed to Feel Like”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by shannaraisles

She can never figure out how Varric manages it, but seeing everyone gather in the Herald’s Rest, simply for the joy of it, is one of her favorite things. Someone inevitably breaks out the cards while others try to drink each other under the table.

Tonight is no different. Varric has Cullen, Dorian, Josephine, and Bull trying to out bet one another. Vivienne and Leliana have found a shadowy table where they can sit and speak quietly while watching everyone else. Cassandra, Sera, Blackwall, and even - surprisingly - Solas are all engaged in a not drinking contest. She grins as she watches them surreptitiously eye the tankards in front of their table mates during lulls in the conversation.

Well, except Sera who is blatantly encouraging more and more rounds.

It’s a strange group, she thinks. Under any other circumstances, how many of them would have found each other and formed these unlikely friendships? She’s seen so many relationships from afar throughout her lifetime, but these are … different. And she doesn’t know why.

She thinks of the beginning. A moment of weakness, hearing a call for help and responding, and suddenly she was trapped amidst all these strangers. She’d been surrounded on all sides; the hostility Cassandra held for her, the thinly veiled suspicion of Leliana and Cullen, Varric’s insistent friendliness, Josephine’s overly polite distance, the curiosity of Solas, and then the others slowly trickling in. Her only thought had been survival and getting back to Lorcan as quickly as possible to soften the waiting punishment. And then … the unthinkable.

“Fear. Panic. The softening of their opinions. ‘Don’t trust it. They’ll hurt you. They’ll use you and destroy you.’ But they never wanted to.”

A corner of her mouth quirks. “Hello, Cole.”

“They frightened you. You thought they would be like him. But they aren’t. You still wonder sometimes if it’s not real.”

Her eyes flick to him sitting next to her on the bar and then back to the rest of them. Once, his words would have stirred the hostility in her. To expose her weakness would have drawn a violent reaction. Now, it’s just uncomfortable, but she can take it.

“Sometimes. Not so much anymore,” she admits.

“You’re better. The cracks in your light are smaller. Like they’ve been healed.”

She shifts, thinking they’re quickly moving past merely uncomfortable.

“‘Mine. Weird, but mine. To protect. To help. To love.’ That word scares you, but it’s what you feel. They feel it too.”

“Cole–”

“‘Steady and strong, beautiful and alive. Her soul is free now.’ He struggles not to flush when you look at him, but he can’t help it. He’s proud of you. He sees the real you. You make him better too.”

Her wide eyes find Cullen staring at her, that small smile on his face. Heat floods her cheeks. She wishes a rift would swallow her right about now.

“Ah, Cole, I’ve been kicked out of the game and Varric wants you to take my place,” Dorian says as he saunters over.

Under his hat, Cole’s eyes study Dorian before he glances at Sidni and nods. He leaps lightly to the floor.

“Cole,” she says before he walks away. He turns to her, tilting his head. “Thank you.”

He smiles and goes to where Varric is pulling a chair out for him. Dorian leans against her thigh, taking a drink from his cup.

“You looked like you needed rescue.”

She laughs. “It wasn’t so bad.”

They lapse into silence, watching as the drinking table explodes in joyful yells over something. It’s followed by a shout from Bull at the card table and Cullen’s face falling into his hands. He lifts his head, looking for her and begging her to come help in a shout.

Quiet chuckles fill the air between them. She snags Dorian’s wine and takes a sip before handing it back and getting ready to rescue her lover before she has to chase his bare ass back to his tower again.

“Do you think this is what a proper family is supposed to feel like?”

Dorian rests his head against her arm. “I suppose it might be. Neither of us would know, would we?”


	7. Dorian and Sidni Sharing Something They’ve Never Shared Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by irlaimsaaralath
> 
> This one surprised me and then got away from me. It does follow chapter 12 and 13 of the March Madness Writing Challenge. You might want to read those first, but it’s not necessarily required.
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of abuse and thoughts of suicide. Please read at your own discretion.

Dorian’s lost track of how many times he’s asked. But she still won’t tell him what she meant when she mentioned the Terrible Fathers Guild. He knows he wouldn’t appreciate prying if the roles were reversed, but he’s starting to put the scattered pieces together. And what he’s seeing worries him. Maybe even frightens him some.

He doesn’t need details. Not really. Just some answers. Vague ones, if it suits her.

Two weeks later, there’s another attack as they make their way back to Skyhold. The assassins go after Sidni, but she disposes of them quickly, looking irritated as she wipes her blades clean and they rush to ensure she’s alright.

“I’m fine,” she says. “They didn’t want to kill me. Just capture me and take me back.”

The look he, Cassandra, and Varric share is more than mildly concerned.

That night, he drags his bedroll into her tent and ignores her sigh. He may not be able to see her glare, but he feels it on his back.

“Move over, Cadash. How can someone so small take up so much space?”

She sighs, quieter this time, but obliges him. They settle, listening to the insects whir and buzz outside. The occasional howling animal interrupts the calm.

Her tension stifles the air. She’s braced and alert, more so than usual. He needs to do  _something_.

“My father … I didn’t tell you the whole story. I’ve never told another soul.”

She inhales. “Dorian, you don’t–”

“He did try to change me with blood magic. But that was after he abducted me from a Lord’s house and imprisoned me in our estate for months.”

Flashes of hunger and fear and pain claw at him. He brushes the memories away. Acknowledging them only makes it worse.

“He was hoping to break me, I believe. I’d caused too much of a scandal. Magister Halward’s son cavorting around the Imperium and engaging with other men. Such a disgrace, you know.”

It isn’t until he feels her shift closer that he realizes his voice has gone rough. The words choke him in spite of all he does to keep the emotions at bay.

She doesn’t offer platitudes or apologies. She simply moves until her side is pressed against his and they lay in the dark side by side, staring at the ceiling of the tent.

“Lorcan … my father … you know he hurt me.”

“He abused you.”

“Yes. He did. It kept me in line. It’s how he turned me into his puppet. And I … I did what he wanted. All of this … it’s because he wants me back. He wants to bring me under his control again. He’ll do whatever he can to have his biddable weapon back.”

The coarseness in her voice breaks his heart. He knew her bastard of a father hurt her repeatedly. He’d hoped it was just a sadistic tendency or that the man was scum who liked to see others hurt. The reality, the pieces he’d tried and failed to correctly put together, is worse.

“Why didn’t you fight back?”

“I did. Once. I drew my blade on him and I had every intention of killing him. But I underestimated him. It was a near fatal mistake. He calculated every move until I was nearly dead.”

Dorian wishes he’d never started this conversation.

“But you weren’t. You survived.”

“I thought … I  _wanted_  to just let go. To give up,” she breathes. “I will die before I let him have me.”

“There will be no dying. And no going back to him. I won’t allow it.”

She huffs. It sounds suspiciously like a choked back sob though she tries to pass it off as a laugh.

“Does Cullen know? About this?”

“ _No_. And he never will.”

It’s his turn to sigh. He presses against her, taking her hand in his. Her body trembles and he wonders how many times she cried silently like this on her own, hiding from her father.

They’ve both been betrayed by the ones who were supposed to care for them. Their hearts bear the betrayal of bad parental figures and hiding that fact from the world.

_Terrible Fathers Guild, indeed._


	8. Stumbling Around In the Morning, Getting Around Each Other While Rushing to Get Ready for the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by kagetsukai
> 
> Okay so this isn’t quite “in the morning,” but sort of.

The knock is light, as if the person doesn’t really want to be interrupting their rest. That means it isn’t any of their friends. They’d pound until they were answered or burst in. Cullen isn’t disturbed - she hadn’t even been sure she was hearing something real when it roused her from sleep - and so she slips from the bed, knife in hand.

It could be someone trying to keep up appearances on their way to sneak in and slit their throats.

She quickly dons Cullen’s tunic, padding to the top of the stairs and listening. The knock comes again. It’s almost timid, but definitely insistent. She glances back at her lover’s sleeping face then around the room illuminated by dying firelight, making sure the windows are secure. He’d most likely wake up if someone broke in, but she’s not taking any chances.

Seeing her traps are still in place and everything is locked, she flits down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots. She pauses at the door, listening again. There’s a deep breath, and then a voice calling out, “Inquisitor! Please!”

She still braces herself as she swings the door open. The messenger glances at her face and down to the blade in her hand, swallowing. A flash of guilt cuts through her and she tucks it under her sleeve where he can’t see it.

“The scouts found Samson’s base. Sister Nightingale is requesting your presence in the War Room. And,” his eyes shift behind her and then back to her face, eyes widening, “uh, if the, um, commander is here. His too.”

She barely represses a smile. At least her reputation seems to be intact in some circles if this poor man is afraid to suggest Cullen might be sleeping in her quarters.

“Thank you. We’ll be right there.”

He salutes as she closes the door and hurries back up the stairs, chuckling quietly to herself. Would she have stabbed him for suggesting such? Perhaps a long time ago. But that person wouldn’t be with Cullen, so it doesn’t seem to matter either way.

“Cullen,” she says as she adds wood to the fire so they can see, “they found Samson. Leliana wants us in the War Room.”

He’s alert and climbing out of bed quickly. His eyes find her as she hurries toward him, scooping up their boots along the way. He pulls on his smalls.

“They’ve found his lair,” he breathes. “Finally. We’ll have to move quickly.”

“Which is why we’re getting dressed in the middle of the night,” she laughs, tossing his tunic into his face.

He’s almost giddy as he tugs it over his head, eyes darkening slightly as she rounds the foot of the bed completely naked to grab her smalls and binding. His gaze doesn’t leave her, even as he fastens his own trousers and sets hers on the bed.

“Stop staring at me like that. We have things to do,” she scolds.

They move around each other, tugging on clothing, Sidni ducking under Cullen’s arm to grab her own tunic and passing him his gambeson. She’s fastening her cuirass when he steps up behind her and helps her slide her arms into her coat. He kisses the top of her head as he moves away.

Belt and knives locked around her waist and thighs, she climbs onto the bed so she can reach, securing the straps on his plates that she knows force his arms into uncomfortable positions. It leaves him free to finish with his gloves and boots.

She slides into her own boots before following him down the stairs. He’s still settling his surcoat on his shoulders while she holds onto his sword. They pause outside the door for him to belt it around his waist. She stretches onto her toes and he meets her halfway. His scruff scrapes against her skin as they pull apart.

She pauses as he starts toward the War Room.

“How can we do that so quickly and not the other way?” she asks.

The smile on his face when he turns back heats her cheeks. “I think we’re usually too distracted.”


	9. Day 9: Offering Your Drink/Snack for Sidni and Dorian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by out-of-the-embers

She wants her tent and the sweet oblivion of sleep. She’s sick of these mountains and sick of the snow. Everything aches. Sometimes, as they walk, she swears she can feel ribs grinding together. She’s had worse, certainly, but still. There have never been so many people focusing on her in such a state. It’s unnerving. She knows she looks like she barely survived being trampled by a bronto. **  
**

That’s probably more apt than she wants to admit. She certainly doesn’t look like a leader at the moment.

But with a lack of healing potions and Solas having done all he could, she just has to give it more time. And keep up the front. Hopefully she won’t collapse while leading the entire remains of the Inquisition. It almost makes her long for the days when she traveled alone and could find a cave to stop and lick her wounds in.

The lone figure sitting by the fire in the center of her companions’ circle of tents brings her pause. Dorian has his robes drawn tightly around him and his brows are furrowed. She glances at the meager meal in her hands and then back to the mage. Thinking of the warmer climes of Tevinter and the ready luxuries they enjoy, she can imagine this feels like a death sentence to him. He’s not complained once, but …

Biting back a groan as her body protests, she drops onto the crate next to him. He turns, his eyes sweeping over her and lingering on the bruises and cuts.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She can tell the truth on this at least. “I’ve had worse.”

He frowns, surveying her closer. This unlooked for ally, this outcast, catches on to her more than many of the others have. It’s unnerving, but she likes him, so she lets it pass. Still, she fights back a flush under the scrutiny and holds out the venison someone had thoughtfully put aside when she didn’t attend dinner.

“I know you’re hungry,” she responds to his arched brow.

“Cadash–”

The lie rolls easily off her tongue. “I snatched some extra. Old habits.”

He takes it from her, still hesitant. She brushes her fingers clean and looks to the fire as he nearly devours it after the first bite. Her heart twists for him. And her admiration grows.

He holds out half of the small portion. It’s her turn to raise a brow and hope her face shows her displeasure.

“You took it for yourself. Have some,” he urges.

She breaks off a piece and pushes the rest back. She’s gone longer periods with no food. She’ll survive. He almost looks guilty when he finishes it.

“There’s an extra fur in the crate we’re sitting on. I would hate to find a frozen Vint in the morning. Good night, Dorian.”

His splutter follows her as she crosses to her tent. She catches sight of Cullen, hovering outside his own tent, watching her. There’s an odd expression on his face. Her heart does something strange and causes her breath to catch. She steels her jaw and nods, hurrying to the safety of canvas walls.

The frozen ground is unforgiving against her body, but she curls up and ignores it all. The pain, the hunger, the confusion … it all fades as she lets sleep take her, content that at least Dorian will sleep easier tonight.


End file.
